another lonely day with no one here but me

Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-16-2010, 08:47 PM

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It had been several days, but how many exactly, he had no idea. Larkspur had lived like this for his entire life. Hours and the passing of the sun came and went by without him realizing it. He had been sleeping for what felt like eons. Unprepared for such a thing, it had surprised him. He woke in a building. This eased him only slightly, for it was not the one he had come to recognize. Slowly, his thoughts gathered themselves. He was no longer a pack wolf, and Dahlia’s scent was fast-fading from his pelt.

He had come to the one-room cabin that Misery and he had lived in so many months ago. It felt smaller now. Maybe he had grown. He didn’t know. The wolf grunted and rose to his feet. He was still in his Optime form. This was good. That was the form he remembered being in when he had passed through Phoenix Valley, meeting the scarred man with the one eye. Jefferson had reminded him of the gray coyote. Her face was one of nightmarish things, and Larkspur knew a thing or two about nightmares.

The mare was grazing when he found her outside. She was hungry and snorted displeasure to her owner, who dismissed it with a low mumbled response. They would both need food. It would be more difficult hunting on his own, but Larkspur believed himself capable of such a thing. Still, he would need to ensure the horse fed first. He traveled idly away from the small cabin and began searching for the red fruit Misery had told him horses enjoyed, one of his many empty bags in hand. His steps were heavy and his hair unkempt, eyes foggy—his mind was somewhere else entirely.

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